


Prelude: The Chosen Path

by steelneena



Series: The Chosen Path [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, My massive AU, now with a small side of angst and a cliffhanger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: Paths are divergent, and lives are altered. Fates are changed. Destiny is chosen, instead of made.Covers the years 32 BBY - early 22 BBY / TPM Era.





	1. 32 BBY - A Path is Chosen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SwiftSnowmane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftSnowmane/gifts).



> For the ever supportive and wonderful SwiftSnowmane, without whom this verse would not exist. An attempt to remind the fandom exactly who and what Anakin is, and what leads to his downfall in canon, accomplished by circumventing canon altogether.  
> Series currently in progress. Updates once every month.

**Part One: Jedi Temple, Coruscant, 32 BBY**

He had lived.

Had the molten red blade been one iota to the left, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn knew that it most certainly would have killed him. He’d spoken fervently with Obi-Wan, after his padawan had dispatched the Sith Lord, begging him to care for Anakin, to _train_ him. Wrung a promise from the distraught man’s lips. He thought he was going to die.

But he had lived.

As it was, the gaping, cauterized hole in his side had left Qui-Gon in the medi-bay, trussed up and fussed over. His surroundings stank of the sickly-sweet bacta, and eventually, the scent of it left an irremovable taste in his mouth. As always, he detested his stay.

But none of that mattered, because he was alive.

If Qui-Gon had not lived, Anakin Skywalker’s fate would have been drastically altered.

In the months following their duel against the Sith, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been on enforced leave. His apprentice had been knighted, after Qui-Gon was well enough recovered to leave the medi-bay. That, of all things, was the only certain factor to be determined in the aftermath. Obi-Wan had shown considerable skill in his victory, and had maintained his inner serenity despite the rage of the Sith. Qui-Gon had been immensely proud, but, as always, felt a strange distance from the young man of whom he was immensely fond.

Despite the imminent knighthood, or, perhaps, because of it, Qui-Gon had seen an awful lot of Obi-Wan, especially during the early stages of recovery. Obi-Wan doted on his Master incessantly, but was still quick to become agitated by his infuriating ways.  Especially on the consideration of one factor in particular.

Young Anakin Skywalker.

With Obi-Wan’s impending knighthood, Qui-Gon, as soon as he was able, had announced that he intended to take Anakin as his new padawan. Instead, the council had rejected his request once more. Qui-Gon had pushed. The council pushed back, harder. And Obi-Wan, ever the shrewd peacekeeper (though in Qui-Gon’s head he thought _Obi-Wan’s a diplomat_ ; _in spite of his general distaste for them, he’d have flourished in a political arena_ ) had attempted to drip honeyed words into his obstinate master’s ear. It wasn’t that Obi-Wan disliked Anakin. Much to the contrary, they seemed to have grown far closer than Qui-Gon had ever anticipated. Obi-Wan mothered Anakin as much as he did his old Master. All the same, no words from Obi-Wan could change his mind on the matter of Anakin’s training.

Qui-Gon, however, was steadfast.

He had lived, and the Force was urging him, persistently, relentlessly, to _act_.

He had lived, and he would not let that gift go to waste.

* * *

“Masters, I have come before you this last time to ask your permission to train Anakin Skywalker, to take him as my padawan learner,”

Mace Windu’s elbows rested on the arms of his seat. He steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the tallest two, before fixing Qui-Gon with an inscrutable gaze. The Korun master let out a sigh, but said nothing. He would wait to speak his stone willed words. Wait until others had dithered first.

Qui-Gon’s attention was drawn to the other end of the room, where Ki-Adi-Mundi had leant back in his chair.

“I quite like the boy,” He stated with simple finality. “I believe that under your tutelage, he would become a great Jedi. But it is not my opinion that matters. We made this decision as a council, despite how each of us may feel about the matter independently,” The Cerean stroked his beard, pensive. “However much potential young Skywalker has, we have made our final decision,”

There was a general murmur, verbal as well as physical, heads nodding here and there. Shaak Ti seemed particularly staunch, her montrals shifting gently against her shoulders in her earnestness. She had been particularly vocal in the case against him.

“The council has made its decision, Master Jinn. You must abide by it,” Mace Windu finally spoke. As Master of the Order, it was his ceremonial right to the last word, unless Yoda decided to speak as well. Curiously, the wizened Grand Master remained silent.

Gracious, Qui-Gon turned to sweep the room’s occupants with his glance. “If that is your decision, Masters, then you leave me no choice,”

“Hrmpf,” Yoda scoffed at his Grand-Padawan. All eyes drew to the ancient Master. “No choice, have you? Always, a choice, there is, Master Qui-Gon. Always, more than one path before us,” Yoda pointed one of his three fingers accusingly at Qui-Gon. “Already chosen another path, you have,”

“What is this, ‘other path’, Master Jinn?” Plo Koon asked calmly. Only a hint of intrigue spilled into his tone.

“I have meditated long on this matter, and I have not been deterred, Masters. Anakin is the One, and it falls to me to instruct him. He simply _cannot_ go untrained. And if I must disobey this council to ensure that he is, I will,”

“Already decided, you have, so sure of our decision, you were,” Yoda settled back, gripping his gimmer stick tightly. “Pointless, this meeting was, if both are true,”

Qui-Gon only nodded firmly in response.

“Then we accept your resignation from this Order,” Mace concluded. His voice resonated with a firm, immovable tone, but his eyes were unreadable, as was his presence in the Force, much to Qui-Gon’s dismay. He was usually very adept at reading others emotions in the Force, but he suspected that Mace had been prepared for this probability long enough ago to be able to hide his reaction. Having been, up until that point, close friends, Qui-Gon had enjoyed sparring with the Vaapad master, and did not wish to damage their relationship. It had long been strained by his constant disagreements with the councils decisions, but he did not wish an end to that. His gaze flitted away from Windu, surveying the rest of the sitting members.

Ki-Adi-Mundi spoke once more. “I am sorry to see you go, Qui-Gon Jinn,”

“And I, all of you. But it _is_ the correct course, of that I am certain,” He paused a moment, catching Yoda’s eye. “I renounce this Order only in name. I will maintain its principles,” He spoke carefully, choosing his words with precision.

Yoda leveled his gaze, and they stared at one another. “Happy with this decision, to leave, I am not." There was a long pause. "Accept your pledge, I do,”

Qui-Gon bowed, and, without and further discussion, or wishes of farewell, the meeting was adjourned. With a swirl of his cloak, Qui-Gon exited the council chambers. Despite the peace he’d come to feel about his decision, there was still one sore point. He had yet to speak with Obi-Wan. It wasn’t that he was worried about his former apprentice, but rather that he knew the young man would not understand. Indeed, Qui-Gon expected that when he found out, Obi-Wan would be quite cross.  And so, Qui-Gon had decided, he would do the prudent thing: he would cross that bridge should it even enter their path. Inwardly, it rang out to him _cowardly_. But that too, Qui-Gon was at peace with.  Only time would come to settle Obi-Wan’s feelings on the matter. And that, Qui-Gon now had in spades.

In the end, he did not have to face Obi-Wan. A small piece of his heart hurt at the thought of leaving the young man behind without another word, but the last time he had seen him, he had reiterated all that he felt – all the pride and contentment that Obi-Wan evoked in him. Obi-Wan simply wouldn’t know that it had been goodbye until it was too late. Better that they part on good terms, than on bad.

The council had gifted him several things, two training sabers were among their belongings now, and a set of new clothing for Anakin, who had so little to begin with. They’d also given him a small two man fighter; he’d fought against it, but in the end Qui-Gon had to concede. Anakin was more than happy to pilot the thing, that was certain. Within a day after the meeting, they were off. Once into their docking ring, hyperspace was quickly engaged, and Anakin, ever curious, yet tempered by the somber implications of his situation, had questions.

“If I can’t be a Jedi, Master, sir, then what will I be if you train me?”

Qui-Gon, ever patient, smiled kindly. “I have promised to train you in the ways of the Jedi, but I will do it as I see fit. You may not be trained in the temple, or carry the title, but membership alone does not a Jedi make, young Ani,”

Qui-Gon’s young charge looked back at him in earnestness. “I am sorry you had to leave the Order, Master. I could have returned to Naboo. Pad- _The Queen_ told me I’d be welcome there if the Order didn’t have a place for me. I didn’t want this to happen, Master, sir,”

“Oh Ani,” Qui-Gon sighed. “It is the same for me, as it is for you. I am still a Jedi, not perhaps in name, but in action, and belief, and duty. I would not give up this chance to train you. Not for anything, young one. It is the will of the Force that you be trained. It is what is meant to be. I am only following the path that has been set before me. Do not take responsibility on yourself. You are not at fault,”

“Thank you, Master,”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon leant back in his seat, swiveling to face the child head on. “Perhaps we can begin your instruction now, with but a simple lesson. A first lesson,” The Force guided him, effortless, purposeful. There was something on the horizon, just beyond the reach of Qui-Gon’s penetrating gaze. Something was changing. Altering. Permanently. Something important. He could feel it. “There have been many iterations of the Jedi code over the years, altered and changed and then returned to a previous form, and altered again. But this is the code I will teach you…”

 

**Part Two: Fields of Banir, Dantooine, 30 BBY**

_Emotion, yet peace._

He ran through his katas, almost effortless, but sweating profusely, the purple and yellow grasses behind him swaying with him, as if they were one. The only sound in the air was the hum of the practice saber and the rush of the wind. He could hear his own breathing, the sound of the blood pounding in his veins, thrumming with adrenaline. He was utterly aware of everything going on around him; his conscious was the conscious of the bounding Iriaz in the fields beyond, the bugs beneath, the birds in the sky. They were him, and he was them. He felt the Force flow between them, around them, within them.

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._

Several klicks away, rising out of the distance like a strangely shaped mountain was the ruins of an ancient Jedi Temple. As Anakin danced through the repetitive movements, he crossed in and out of the structure’s axis. It hovered behind him on the horizon like a shadow.  The Force was particularly concentrated there, and its potency ebbed and intensified like waves on a shore; a push/pull between the Force and her Child. He drew on it, and she pulled him in.

_Passion, yet serenity._

In his peripheral senses, he could feel Qui-Gon looking on as he drilled himself, but his focus was on the task at hand. He executed a particularly difficult kata, balancing himself with some extra effort. He recalled the movements, fluidly executing his patterns. Again, and again he had practice. Now, with each repetition, the movements grew more exact, less calculated. They were becoming…innate.

_Chaos, yet harmony._

His blade, a green blur, twirled and flew, a flurry of quick, sharp movements, each falling in line with the next. The footwork for those moves was less involved, as he let his focus surge into his upper body, still keeping his awareness open and on everything Underfoot, he could sense the grubs and bugs, bustling, burrowing. He avoided stepping on something that slithered past, sidestepping as it continued on its way. The world around him was alive, and he was One with it.

_Death, yet the Force._

The final kata of the sequence was intense, ending in an offensive position. Twilight was falling as the sun, _Dina_ , gave way to the first of the planets two moons. A Kath hound howled distantly. Anakin was breathing heavily, his eyes shut, but not squeezed tight, shut so gently that they flickered, lashes leaving hinted shadows on his cheeks. The Padawan took several slow, deep breaths, expelling his excess energy and settling his body. Slowly, he came back to himself, his awareness receding. The blade retracted with a whoosh, and, slowly, languid, Anakin relaxed his body.

He opened his eyes.

Before him, his Jedi Master, the great Qui-Gon Jinn. 

His hair was long; longer than it had been when they’d first arrived. Anakin had joked that, should they cut it, it would be useful to make rope, but Qui-Gon had only smiled in appeasement. All the same, Anakin had offered to braid it up for him, the way he’d often done for his mother, just the way she’d taught him once, long ago. Qui-Gon had acquiesced, and it had become a daily ritual between them. Anakin knew all manner of styles, and together they’d found something that worked. Qui-Gon would sip his tea and Anakin would stand behind him, braiding. It felt like home, in those moments. He could close his eyes, and pretend… But as much as he missed his mother and their traditions, the life he had been given, Anakin would trade for nothing.

The Padawan replaced the practice saber on his belt clip and bowed at the waist.

“Well done, Ani. That was excellent. You’ve improved greatly on that eighth position. Next time, we’ll add in the twelfth and thirteenth. I think you’re ready for the challenge. ” Qui-Gon always spoke with warmth in his voice. It filled Anakin to bursting every time, and he beamed with the joy of it.

Qui-Gon joined him in the field. The second moon was cresting the horizon. A sigh drifted through the air between them. Calm. Peace. Isolation.

“It’s been two years today,”

The clouds were purple against the last golden rays. Anakin could feel Qui-Gon’s presence reaching for him, content and companionable. After so long in each other’s orbit, the familiar tug was a homey comfort on a world that had once been so alien to the desert born boy.

“Two years is a long time for one as young as you, my Padawan,”

“It is,” Anakin’s head tilted in consideration. “But it still seems only yesterday, sometimes, that I was back home on Tatooine,”

 _Home_.

The word had yet to leave Anakin’s vocabulary. Tatooine was home, for home was where his mother was.

“You’ve come a long ways, Ani,” There was a second meaning in Qui-Gon’s words. Anakin felt it as well as heard.

“I have a long ways yet to go,”

Every once in a while, Anakin offered an insight that truly astonished Qui-Gon. The boy was still very much the same excitable child he’d discovered on Tatooine, yet, even then, he had often had a wisdom that belayed his experience.

The pensive moment lasted until twilight had descended utterly upon the world, then, silently and in tandem, the Master and Apprentice walked back into their home.

 


	2. 30 BBY - Master of None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the Fourth Be With You

**Settlement Market, Fields of Banir, Dantooine, 30 BBY**

 

Market was already bustling that day as Mal sat behind his stall, watching his goods. The sun was still low in the sky and and as it broke over the crest of the fields, he felt it brush his skin like an old lovers touch. He stretched. Mal was old, and his bones ached. He grinned at Desba, who ran the stall across from him.

 

“These old bones ache!” He called to the grizzled woman.

 

“You old Chalactan, always complaining! My bones ache too, but you don’t hear me crying about it,” 

 

Mal laughed a deep, good natured chuckle. It was going to be a good day. The weather was mild and the sun was coming up and the clouds were few and far between. With luck, there would be only a little breeze. Yes. A good market day.

 

Things got busy fast when the weather turned out the way Old Mal predicted. Around 10 standard hours into the morning there was a bustling crowd of beings: Sullustans, Ithorians, Rodians, Humans, and other Chalactans all mingled in the aisles, multiple languages mixing in his ears like a good blend of spices. Old Mal took a deep breath, breathing it all in. Something was cooking down the way, or brewing. He’d have to check it out later. A customer bought one of his hand carved bowls, and he haggled over the price. When he’d settled fairly, and both parties were satisfied, he leaned back in his seat again, waiting for the next sell.

 

Coming in on the left, directly in his field of vision, was Tall Stranger. He’d appeared first almost two years ago, but left little direct impression. When prompted for a description of him, the most anyone was able to give was “Tall. A Stranger.” He wore his hair quite long, often with some braided portion or long section drawn together at the top and tied with a cord.  He looked younger than Mal suspected he truly was, for there was a curious sparkle in the man’s clear grey eyes that looked suspiciously like wisdom. He looked for no trouble, and no trouble had found him as of yet. _Good thing_ , Mal thought, _that there are no Mandalorians in this sector right now._ Once they’d taken bets on why the man had come to such a remote place as Dantooine, much less the Banir sector. The prevailing theory (yet to be collected on, of course) was that he had a bounty out on him and that if any displaced Mandalorians showed up, the locals would know exactly who the bounty hunter in question was looking for.

 

But this time, something else about Tall Stranger caught Mal’s eye.

 

A human boy was trailing by his side. He looked about eleven. His hair was shorn, save for a long, thin braid that grew from behind his ear and lay on his shoulder. He wore similar garments to that of Tall Stranger, and walked along at a steady clip, keeping pace with the long legged man. There was something about the scene that the old Chalactan couldn’t place...

 

But what excited Mal even more was the fact that the boy’s eyes had fallen on _his_ stall. And positively lit up with excitement.

 

“-’t wander too much, Anakin,” Tall Stranger said to the boy, _Anakin_ , who promptly ran off, calling a haphazard ‘I won’t!’ over his shoulder before making a beeline for Mal’s stall. And then Tall Stranger did something even more odd. He _smiled_.

 

“Hello, sir,” the boy, Anakin, said, peering excitedly over Mal’s wares.

 

“Hello there yourself,” Mal couldn’t help but smile at the boy. His good nature and eager eyes were infectious.

 

“Do you carve these yourself?” He asked, almost reverent.

 

“I do indeed!” Mal puffed up with pride as he watched Anakin marvelling at one of his finer pieces. It was a thin wooden vase that he’d had for quite a while, and never really expected to sell. Most on Dantooine had no need of it, certainly not anyone who came to Market, but it helped showcase his skill, and so kept it for market days. “That’s a personal favourite of mine, you know,” The old Chalactan leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Do you see the vines there, and-”

 

“The flower! Yes, sir, I do!” A careful finger just hovered over the glossed surface. “There’s the blossom. It’s a circle. You’ve followed the flower from birth to death, up in a spiral, from the bottom to the top. It’s beautiful,”

 

Inwardly, as well as outwardly, Mal beamed. “You’ve really got an eye for this. You ever think of woodworking yourself?”

 

“Sure,” the boy replied, still engrossed in the vase. “I like to whittle. I used to carve japor snippets, for good luck,”

 

“Japor, hey?” Mal said thoughtfully. “That a Tatooinian import? Ivory wood?”

 

“Well, I used to live on Tatooine, so it wasn’t really an import. But yeah, that’s the one,”

 

“Is it soft wood? Harder? I’ve never worked with Japor ivory,”

 

“Medium grain, sir. Softer, but firm. Not so hard it breaks easy, but not so soft either that it won’t keep shape,”

 

Mal chuckled at the serious tone of Anakin’s voice. “You know your stuff, don’t you, boy? I’m Old Mal. Old Mal Ranakti. What’s your name?” Mal stuck out his hand. The boy took it and shook.

 

“Anakin, sir. Anakin Skywalker,”

 

“Well it’s good to meet a fellow woodworker, Anakin Skywalker. We’re few and far between here,” He nodded his head decisively. “Now, how about you come around this side here and we’ll see what you can do,”

 

Anakin did as he asked, and sat on the crate by Old Mal’s chair. He handed Anakin a smallish hunk of wood, about a quarter carved out. It was the same, rich brown wood as the rest of his pieces.

 

“Now I’ve been at this piece for a while, but my old eyes and big hands here can’t really manage the smaller pieces like they used to,” he took a small whittling knife off of his table, handing it handle-side to Anakin. “Maybe you can help me,”

 

Anakin smiled up, gleeful. “Thank you, sir,”

 

“You can call me Mal, young Anakin,”

 

Across the aisle, Desba called in his rickety voice. “Now that’s just cheating, Mal, you old kath!”

 

“The boy’s got a natural talent and a good eye, what can I say?” The elders laughed boisterously over the hubbub of the crowd, both of them ending in coughs.

 

While Anakin worked, Mal sold another two pieces (bowls, always the bowls!) and spotted Tall Stranger headed back in his direction. “Now young Anakin, that Tall Stranger, he any relation?” Anakin, deep in his work, didn’t automatically respond.

 

“Hmm? Oh, I’m Master Qui-Gon’s apprentice. But he’s sort of like a father to me. I never had a dad. My mom’s back on Tatooine,” A note of melancholy crept into the boy’s voice at the mention of his mother, but he perked up quickly. “Master Qui-Gon is teaching me his trade,”

 

Just as Mal was about the ask what trade that might be, Tall Stranger, Qui-Gon himself, made it to Mal’s stall.

 

“I see you’ve kept my Padawan out of trouble,” Anakin’s teacher said amicably. Old Mal’s forehead crinkled at the foreign word. “Are you having fun, Ani?”

 

“You bet, Master! Mal is letting me carve a piece! I haven’t carved anything in almost two years, not since that pendant I made for Padme,”

 

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon’s tone was warm and his smile real. Anakin went back to his work, but his teacher turned to Mal. “Thank you, for allowing him this. He hasn’t had much contact with others recently,”

 

“No contact indeed,” Mal humphed, though not unfriendly-like. “You’ve been here going on two standard years, and no one here’s seen hide nor hare of the boy before today,”

 

“I’ve been studying,” Anakin spoke up, though he was still intently focused on his task. Mal smiled again. Small children had big ears, he certainly knew that well enough.

 

“Indeed, Anakin’s training has been rigorous. There was much to cover in a short period of time. He’s begun his education rather late,” Qui-Gon observed the boy. To Mal’s eye, there was nothing short of affection, fatherly care, certainly. But also something else. The Master bowed a small bow. “Forgive me, I’ve yet to introduce myself. I am Qui-Gon Jinn,”

 

“Mal Ranakti, woodworker,” The old man introduced himself, appraising Qui-Gon as he did. He noticed that the other man did not offer his profession in response.

 

“It is my pleasure, Mal Ranakti,” Qui-Gon turned to Anakin, and, seeing him do so, Mal copied his actions. The boy was just blowing a bit of wood dust from the item he held in his hand. Rubbing a thumb over one spot, Anakin nodded his head once, firmly, then held it out to Mal.

 

“Here you go, Mal,”

 

The pendant that the boy had created was beautiful. Simple, but beautiful. Spirals and starbursts and other rudimentary symbols that Mal supposed were Tatooinian in origin covered the now smoothly carved wood. They were etched so tightly, and finely, that only a small, steady hand could have made them. The surface contours were slightly concave, giving it a rounded appearance. Altogether, it had the look of a fine piece.

 

“Well! You’ve a far steadier hand than I, young Anakin!” Mal proclaimed. “All it needs is a little polish and you’ll bet set,”

 

“Won’t you sell it, sir?” the boy asked, head cocked slightly to the side in confusion.

 

“You can keep it, if you like. And if you want me to sell it, the credits are yours. You’ve made it, fair and square,”

 

Suddenly almost shy, Anakin looked away, smiling. The long braid over his shoulder fluttered gently in the breeze. Mal furrowed his brow. Something...something about the braid was familiar...

 

“Thank you, sir,”

 

“I’m Mal to you, young Anakin, don’t forget,”

 

“Thank you, Mal,” Anakin stood, passing the pendant back to him. “You should sell it. We don’t need the money,” Clear, impossibly blue eyes stared right into Mal’s soul. He shivered, and took the pendant from the boy.

 

“There now, Ani, run along and fetch yourself something for lunch. I’ll catch up,” Qui-Gon Jinn said, holding out some coins to the boy. Anakin bowed to Mal, smiled, thanked him again, and ran off.  Mal watched him as he went, still unable to speak.

 

“He has that effect on people,” Tall Stranger said, fond, though serious. “We live a ways out on the plains. He’s more used to places like this than I am, but the solitude is important to us. I trust that there won’t be any new rumours floating about?”

 

Mal looked up sharply. “Is that a threat, sir?” Much to his surprise, Qui-Gon threw back his head and laughed, a full, resounding laugh.

 

“Hardly, Mal Ranakti! Can I count on you that we will not be disturbed? Ani is a friendly child, and despite the life he’s lived, still so innocent in many ways. I’m sure he mentioned many things. It’s good for him to have a friend,”

 

Though Mal could tell that the other man was being sincere, he still narrowed his gaze. There was something he was omitting. “You can count on me, Master Jinn,” He answered gruffly.

 

“Then I thank you for your help,” Qui-Gon pressed his hands together at the palms, bowing slightly. As he straightened, his gaze was caught, and pulled to… “That is a beautiful vase,”

 

“Thank you! It’s a personal favourite,”

 

“A well chosen one, I’d wager,”

 

With two stray smiles, and another slight incline of the head on Master Jinn’s part, the conversation ended, and Mal was left to watch Qui-Gon stride away in the same direction his apprentice had gone.

 

“What was all that about then, Mal?” Desba hollered.

 

“Oh, mind your own business once, won’t you?” Mal called back.

 

Desba only cackled in response.

 

* * *

 

It was almost three months before Qui-Gon Jinn and Anakin Skywalker returned to Market.  Old Mal spotted them instantly, Tall Stranger’s lanky form was distinct, and the boy was already running headlong for the stall.

 

“Hello Mal, how are you today?”

 

“Oh just fine, young Anakin. Bones are aching. Nothing new,”

 

“You sound just like Jira,” Anakin replied. “She always used to tell me her bones were aching,”

 

Mal leaned in, conspiratorially. “Was this Jira of yours old by any chance?”

 

A mischievous grin broke sidelong across Anakin’s face. “Yes,”

 

Together they laughed. Looking up, Mal noticed that Qui-Gon Jinn had disappeared into the crowd. Tall as the man was, even the top of his head could not be seen from within the throng of people.

 

“You’re Master’s up and disappeared it seems, young Anakin. Care to practice your other trade?” He held out a block of wood and the whittling knife. Anakin took them from his reverently.

 

“You can call me Ani if you like. Most people back home did, and so does Master Qui-Gon,” He said after a moment, eyes focused, brain obviously whirling with ideas as he concentrated on the wood.

 

“Alright then. Ani it is,” Mal too, settled in with one of his wares, a serving platter this time, which he needed to put the details on.

 

They sat companionably in silence, both focused on the work entirely. It was still the warm season, and the faint breeze was welcome.  Mal was sweating, but Anakin, it seemed was perfectly fine. He diligently carved, only taking a moment's break here or there to brush off some excess wood, or to observe what he’d accomplished, tongue sticking out just a little in concentration. Mal made a couple sales within the hour, but mostly just sat carving, people watching, or observing the boy at his side.

 

The piece was turning out nicely; it looked like he was making a ladle of some sort. As if he could tell he was being watched, Ani spoke without breaking his focus.

 

“I still can’t believe how much water there is here,”

 

Tatooine. Yes. that was right, he was from Tatooine. No wonder the boy was comfortable in the heat.

 

“Most planets are about like this, in my experience,” Mal replied, also continuing his work. “Now you get somewhere else like Glee Anselm or-”

 

“Naboo? Naboo has a lot of water! I’ve been to Naboo once. It was so green! And...humid? Is that the word? I always forget,”

 

Mal laughed. “Yes, Ani, humid, like Naboo. Yes, yes,”

 

“Naboo was so beautiful. Like a dream,” Anakin stopped suddenly, looking up intently at Old Mal. “What’s the most wizard planet you’ve been to?”

 

“Wizard?! Ha, well I don’t know about _wizard_ , Ani, but I’ve been some strange places. Now, I’m no spacer, but I have a couple tales that’ll surprise even the like of your Master Qui-Gon!”

 

Mal was launched into his fifth tale, his own piece no further completed, but Anakin’s almost so, _talented boy humph!_ when he heard a voice say. “I’d like to buy that vase, Mal Ranakti,”

 

Shocked out of his memories, Mal looked up, creaking his joints around to sit in the chair properly. Beside him, Ani was grinning. The customer was Qui-Gon Jinn.

 

“My..mmm-my vase? THAT vase?” The old Chalactan asked, incredulous.

 

“Yes. The one I admired last time we were here. Your personal favourite. I see you still have it,”

 

“I…” Mal was at a loss for words.

 

“If you do not wish to sell, it I shall understand,” Qui-Gon stated graciously.

 

“Let’s talk price then!” Mal found his words, and his sanity.  Half a standard minute later, Qui-Gon had passed him what, in Mal’s mind, was a simply egregious amount of credits, and Qui-Gon had carefully lifted the vase, nestling it in the crook of his arm.

 

“Do you need a minute to finish that up, Ani?” Qui-Gon asked.

 

“Just finishing, Master Qui-Gon,” Indeed, Ani was almost done with the ladle. It was a practical, yet beautiful piece, Mal thought, admiring it. If the boy ever grew tired of his mysterious training, he’d be welcome on as an apprentice in his own right! “There!” He proclaimed, blowing over it’s almost gleaming surface. “All done!”

 

He made as if to hold it out to Mal, but the old man waved him off. “No, Ani, you keep this one. We’ll every other, how’s that sound?”

 

“Very good, thank you, sir,”

 

Mal watched them head back out the way they’d come, and after they’d turned into unrecognizable shapes against the horizon, he stood up and joined the other vendors in packing his things. Desba smiled toothily at him.

 

“You gettin’ any younger with that boy hanging round you all the time?”

 

“Oh, maybe a bit,”

 

“You ought to send him, ‘round to me. Share the wealth. I could use someone to talk to who bothers to _laugh_ at my jokes once in awhile!”

 

“Oh ha, very funny, cantankerous old woman, you!”

 

They picked up, and set out together, heading back into their small house. Before he went inside, Mal gave Desba a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Hrumph,” was all he got for a reply.

 

Several klicks away from where market convened every other day, Anakin and Qui-Gon sat in their little hut eating a late dinner. In the corner, nestled comfortably between the curling vines and broad green leaves of Qui-Gon’s prized plants, was the vase.


	3. 29 BBY - The Crystal Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin seeks his crystal from the caves on Dantooine and constructs his lightsaber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of the trial in the cave, the schematics of Anakin's lightsaber and the actual process of construction are all canon or canon compatible *cough* excuse me, I guess that's legends now. Not that there's much to call canon anymore. Once again, all locations and animals mentioned are real to the Star Wars universe pre Disney. 
> 
> Sorry I was absent. My job and life got in the way. Consider this my December update, as I promised an update once a month. I have, I believe September, October and November to make up for. I will try for two updates in January.

**Crystal Caves, Far South Pole, Dantooine, 29 BBY**

 

The cavern was unlike anything he’d ever seen before on Dantooine. He’d traveled with Qui-Gon to the farthest pole where the crystal cave was located. Eerie in an unknown way, the cave shone with a dark light, but he’d entered it anyways. There was no other option but to go forward alone and weaponless. _“What’s inside? Besides crystals, I mean.” “Only that which you take with you.”_ Qui-Gon was waiting for Anakin at the entrance, but Anakin couldn’t say how long ago that might have been. Time was uncertain in the cave. Shadows leapt and hissed, and darkness crept behind him like a growing fog in the near blackness

The power that imbued the place was alien to Anakin. It seemed different from anything he'd experienced previously. Old. Wary. 

 _“Jedi have been going to Ilum for decades to find their crystals. Dantooine’s caves have been largely ignored and thus have grown unfamiliar. Do not be alarmed too much by it, Anakin_ , _but do be wary. The Force is wild here, not calmed by many Jedi passing through in recent years,_ ” Qui-Gon had warned him.

He had certainly understated the facts. A purplish blue light cascaded from within the mirrored hearts of the crystalline walls, and a low humming picked up in the background. Anakin felt himself growing nervous and dispelled it, focusing on the way the Force thrummed through him, with him, beating as if one with his heart. The shadows around the corner flickered.

 _“The right crystal will call to you, Anakin_ ,” Qui-Gon had told him.

He hoped it was soon.

Anakin let his eyes flicker closed, imbued his senses within the Force utterly and breathed, deeply. His awareness spiked, his eyes opened and he flung his hands out in front of him, ready to call upon the Force. From the far left, the shadow he’d noticed previously took form and rushed towards him, an Asharl panther made of shadow and deadlight. It’s eyes glowed an ominous green and Anakin fought to tamp down the spike of fear. It wasn’t real, only a creation of the cave. Albeit, one that felt very real. It’s large paws hit his chest with full force, pushing him backwards at least a meter, sharp shards of crystal prodding into his back where he fell. The Asharl, which he knew from his studies was often found on Ilum, but not an inhabitant of Dantooine, was corporeal enough that Anakin could feel the full weight of its massive body bearing down on him, paws pinning him to the ground.

Beginning with a deep breath, Anakin let himself go lax, never letting his gaze fall from the Asharl, but tempering his elevated breathing and pulse. The creature made no sound; despite it’s weight, it was obviously a construct of the Force, imbuing the place with its own sentience. A guardian. That’s what this was. And, potentially, a guide.

As hard as it was, Anakin submitted, letting go of his physical senses entirely and opening himself fully to the Force. He saw the cave very differently with his mental eyes. It glowed a much brighter light, blue and green and purple hues, all of its own accord and the shadow Asharl was more distinct. Instead of the absence of light, there was dimension and texture to its majestic being.

_Why have you come?_

_I am seeking a crystal. I am a Jedi._

_Jedi? Jedi?_

The creatures thoughts were a confusing jumble of impressions and feelings going back more centuries than Anakin cared to imagine.

 _Jedi._ He thought back at the creature, sending images of valiance and good heartedness, kindness and strength, peace.

 _Jedi._ The creature finally responded, sending it’s own images back of others, long, long dead, searching the winding cave tunnels as he did now. Figures older than recorded time. Anakin felt himself shiver with the weight of that knowledge.

 _I am seeking a crystal._ He tried again.

_Come._

Physical eyes closed, Anakin followed his mental vision as the creature padded away silently through the cave, following the gentle nudging of the Force, all senses still surrendered. Without any effort at all he navigated the twist, turns, climbs and descents. He didn’t stumble, didn’t falter. The creature never slowed, and neither did Anakin, who had seemingly no trouble keeping up with the creature. They walked for longer than he could put a unit of time on, both an eternity and no time at all, before the Asharl came to a stop.

_Unblock the way, young one._

Before them, the cave had collapsed. Anakin put forth a hand, effortlessly willing the rocks to fall away, clearing the path. The Guardian passed into the cave as if it had never been and Anakin followed. The inner cave was pulsating with light from the crystals but there was a humming, like a sonic resonance, ringing in Anakin’s ear. Drawn to the sound, Anakin looked to a low shelf of rock formations to the left where a blue crystal with two offshoots was ensconced, glowing more brightly in his peripherals than any of the others.

He crouched down and touched it tentatively. Its light hit a zenith, flaring, and Anakin closed his mental eyes in reflex. When he opened them, he did so physically and saw the crystal as it was for the first time. Utterly unremarkable. Grasping at it, Anakin found that it came away with the slightest touch, cool in his hand though not uncomfortably so. Before he’d left, Qui-Gon had gifted him with a leather pouch. He drew it open and placed the crystal inside for safe keeping. Tucking it away, Anakin took in his surroundings. It was nearly pitch black, and for a moment he wondered if he would be able to find his way back out. The uncertainty and instability he’d felt previously in the Force was gone. Its heavy, cloying presence remained, and, he suspected, should anyone else try to enter, they’d feel just as uneasy as he had at first. The cave was simply used to him, and he accustomed to it. He posed no threat and it accepted him not as alien to it’s confines, but as kin.

Without difficulty, Anakin walked in the pitch blackness back through to the outer chambers of the cave. The light was brighter there and it became easier and easier to find his way until he exited to find Qui-Gon in a meditative position.

Unwilling to rouse his master and interested in a little meditative peace himself, Anakin sat down and entered into his own trance, contemplating all that he’d encountered in the cave thoroughly.

When he came to, Qui-Gon had set up camp around them.

“Welcome back, Ani. I trust you were successful?” He asked as he tended the fire. When Anakin had existed the cave it had been light out, just as when he’d entered.

“Yes. How long was I gone? It was still light out when I got back,”

“A couple of hours. No more,” Qui-Gon passed him a wooden bowl filled with stew. “Here. You need some nourishment. It takes much to endure the caves.”

Together they sat in companionable silence, eating. When Anakin was finished, Qui-Gon collected the bowls and Anakin rolled out their blankets for the night.

“I wandered around basically on instinct for a while. It was unnerving in there. Like the Force was practically sentient. It was exactly as you said. So long without visitors…” Anakin trailed off. “I was confronted by a creature that took the form of an Asharl panther, which was certainly some Force construct. I communed with the Force fully and it..." He turned to look at Qui-Gon, pausing in his activity. “Master the cave was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Full of light and abstract life. The Guardian led me to the crystal. And, like you said, it called to me. I found my way back without incident. I think…I think if I went in again, I would not be accosted. It _knows_ me know. I found harmony with it, Master. The experience was…”

“Indescribable.” Qui-Gon finished for him with a slight smile.

“Yes. And intense at first.”

“Some say that the true test of a Jedi’s capabilities is the construction of the lightsaber. You’ve already designed yours, we’ve been through that. You know already that one wrong step in the process could lead to disaster, considering the components. I have always thought that the cave was a better test. Trust in the Force, trust in your attunement to it. That is the true test. You have passed Anakin. Take this as a true compliment; entering this long abandoned cave was no easy thing. Though it is not easy at Ilum either, it is certainly a far more unique experience here than you would have had otherwise. Though, perhaps, as cold as Ilum is, you might find it a challenge in other ways.” Qui-Gon smirked and Anakin knew he was being praised and teased in one go. His heart warmed.

“Yes, I may have turned tail the moment we landed and I saw that frozen landscape. The cold has never been for me, Master, as you so well know, though I can’t help but think you’re less than partial to it yourself, and thus cannot complain too harshly.”

Qui-Gon chucked at Anakin’s faux superciliousness. “Ever the banterer, Padawan mine. Yes. You are correct. I’m more than happy to be here on Dantooine than the unforgiving tundra of Ilum.”

The night passed quickly, first with conversation and before long, much needed restorative sleep. The morning saw the return to their ship. While Anakin plotted their course back to their home, he considered the design of his saber in his mind’s eye. The ridged handgrip surrounding the housing, and underneath the insulator, the conductor field, the diatium power cell that would slot into the crystal mount where he would place the primary crystal on the other side of the energy gate in the main chamber. The activators which were connected to the focusing crystals that led to the energy channel where the cycling field energizers were housed and the wires twisted up between to where the adjustment circuits for length and power were housed, to the top where the magnetic stabilizing ring was attached over the emitter shroud and the tuning flange was inserted. It would be beautiful when he was done with it. Sleek and comfortable, the perfect size for his hands, even as they grew, maximized for efficiency and comfort without appearing clunky or inelegant. A blade that fitted his personality, precise but bold, lithe and exacting.

He’d mediated on the design for over a month, making the proper adjustments, altering the dimensions here and there. It was usual, Qui-Gon had told him, for the Padawan to design their blade hilt from that of their Master’s, to use it as a starting point. Anakin had done so, of course, but only for the rudimentaries. It was in mechanics that Anakin’s natural inclinations always lay, and so it was childsplay designing his own blade after examining his that of his Master’s. His natural skill with machines was the one thing that Qui-Gon ever formally complimented him on, and so he’d mostly left Anakin to the task, occasionally humming as he looked over the work and suggesting some improvements, but less from a mechanical standpoint and more from his own experience in having actually built a saber before.

As he set the controls to auto nav, Anakin leaned back in the pilot’s chair and pulled out the crystal. The center one, the largest (though none of them were exactly big) would be the primary and the smaller two which grew from its base would serve as the focusers. They were almost clear but obviously blue hued. A blue saber then. He hadn’t really thought to look before, but the colour agreed with him. Blue like the Dantooine sky, clear like the tranquil waters of Naboo. Yes, blue suited him.

“Contemplating your saber, Ani?” Qui-Gon slid into the copilot’s seat and checked some of the readouts.

“Yes, Master. We should arrive back late this evening if our current course holds,” He said absently. The sort of flying that did not require more than the occasional effort to stay on course was disinteresting even to him.

“Excellent,” Qui-Gon replied, leaning back as well and stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Anakin, the time is growing near for your first off-world mission. After the completion of your lightsaber we will make for Garang to listen for news throughout the Galaxy and find ourselves a mission.”

“Will we be taking commercial transport, Master?”

“Yes, so as best to conceal ourselves. We’re far more inconspicuous that way.”

“I understand, Master,” Anakin replied, putting away the crystals carefully. “You truly think it is time?”

Qui-Gon’s fond eyes appraised him and Anakin felt their warmth through the Force. “Yes, Anakin. I can keep you from the galaxy no longer. You’ve done much on this planet but your training must expand. You need to broaden your horizons in unfamiliar territory. I know you have grown used to the comfort that living on Dantooine full time has afforded you. We even though we are not quite Jedi, we will be just as nomadic as they, if not more so, as we will wait on no Council’s word to take action. At first we will together meditate on the necessity of any mission we think to undertake. It should not be difficult; no, Anakin, I sense a growing shadow spreading across the galaxy. We are isolated here, which was my goal; I brought you here to train you where you could not be accosted. But no longer,” He looked away from Anakin, out the viewport. “This transition, it will not be easy.”

“I will do my best, Master Qui-Gon. If we are needed in the galaxy, then it is our duty to fulfill our obligation as servants of the Force.”

“Right you are Ani,” Qui-Gon turned to him once more, a sparkle pushing back the contemplation that had only moments before darkened his bright eyes. “The Living Force calls us to act in the moment-“

“While remaining mindful of the future and the possible consequences of our actions.”

“Precisely.”

* * *

 

That evening, when they were returned to their hut and settled in once more, Anakin brought his parts out onto the low wooden veranda that opened out into the fields, the shadow of the temple ruins fading in the sunset. Laying them out methodically, along with the tools and the crystals, which Qui-Gon had cut apart for him into appropriate pieces, Anakin readied himself to construct the lightsaber.

He began by quieting his mind and immersing himself in the Force fully, the second purposeful time in two days. He opened his eyes and began work on the shell, some of which required doing by hand to bond certain parts together. When that was finished, he raised the pieces together: the pommel, the blade guard and the primary crystal. This was the moment. Bringing the pieces together simultaneously without overloading the system circuitry by insuring that the crystal was in perfect alignment was impossible without full concentration and the use of the Force. Drawing his brows together in concentration, Anakin guided the pieces together, the Force working through him, it’s invisible tendrils pushing the floating pieces closer together, holding the crystal steady all the while. It glinted dangerously in the last light of the sun before the casing snapped together, hiding it from his sight.

It hung in the air and no sparks alit from it’s guard.

He’d done it. Anakin took it from the air tentatively and ignited the blade.

From the doorway behind him, Qui-Gon watched on as the cool blue blade illuminated his padawan in the twilight. 

It was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some supplementary art!
> 
> Schematics for Ani's lightsaber: https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/9/9a/Lightsaber-cutaway.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20051113041259
> 
> Comics image of Anakin constructing the lightsaber: https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/swfanon/images/4/41/Anakins_lightsaber.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20080811023807


	4. 26 BBY - Nature and Nurture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's taken a bit. I did say one a month, and it's still July, but I had to write something new and was without muse for a while, and undetermined as to what I would write. Also there's a single mention of a fan fav character in here, so enjoy that.

**Interlude: Qui-Gon Jinn, Dantooine, 26 BBY**

It had been a long time since Obi-Wan was so small that Qui-Gon had nearly forgotten what it was like to be around a boy that age, and on a daily basis. Though Anakin was little like his previous apprentice, certain boyhood similarities existed between them, as they did between most. There was the cut of their hair, and the round fullness of their faces, and the mischievous twinkle in their eyes. But most especially that particular weight of an expectant gaze, hoping for praise, scrambling for all the information they could amass, or hoping to elicit that most desired of all emotions: the gentle, caring smile that designated the affection for which they were both so starved.

It made his heart sore to know that, of the two of them, Obi-Wan would never have the opportunity to experience the openness of caring that freedom from the order allowed them. Anakin, who was already used to this from his mother, was being spared what would undoubtedly have been the shocking understanding of just how different things were within the order. And there was a place for their teachings – Qui-Gon was the last who would deny it to be true, despite his general disaffection for some of their most stringent practices. He’d always toed the line between carefully aloof and tender sentimentality.

With Anakin, he did not have the play that role.

Qui-Gon was under no illusions that the boy thought of him as a father figure. Instead his interactions with Anakin led him to be far more aware of how _Obi-Wan_ had thought of him. Anakin had no longer for a father. He’d never had or needed one; his mother had fulfilled the role of parent and he sought no replacement. But Obi-Wan, he was just like the other Temple-raised children, desperate, despite themselves, for the surrogate filial relationship they would hopefully come to share with their Masters. It was inevitable, no matter the student, for the padawan to look to their teachers in such a way. Such was the nature of sentient beings, and, indeed, Qui-Gon had come to realize, such was the nature of the Force, so parental itself if one allowed oneself to see it.

His exile with Anakin on Dantooine allowed a greater introspection on his part that he’d initially anticipated, and, despite all he’d vowed to the council upon his departure, Qui-Gon found that his teachings had significantly fractured from the Temple’s. It was only natural, he told himself, considering the situation. One on one, without any outside influences, he and Anakin were left to rely on each other completely. Such intimacy of acquaintance always resulted in the creation of familial attachments and bonds. There was no particular word for the relationship they had cultivated (he was _not_ the boy’s father) but that didn’t displace the fact that they were their own, small family unit.

It was pleasant, their isolation. Anakin was free, more or less, to be his normal, cheerful self, and to indulge in the childhood recreations which would normally be disallowed as a padawan. That did not, however, mean that he was allowed to act _childish_. Chastisement often ended with Anakin’s rote recitation of the phrase _“it is unbecoming to act less mature than oneself is capable of, especially when it is being done for wholly selfish reasons”_.

But that was rare, especially as any occasion upon which Anakin acted out was treated as a learning experience. A “teachable moment” Tahl had once called it, so long ago. Anakin would ask questions, Qui-Gon would explain his reasoning, help Anakin to realize the fault he’d incurred of his own understanding, which most often led to it’s never happening again. Anakin’s education required patience, and gentle words. If Qui-Gon had ever been of a rash nature, quick to grow vocally abrasive when displeased, he’d have learned quickly that such a response would only serve to egg his young apprentice on, a learnt response from having grown up so independent in light of his situation. Qui-Gon had spent much time considering what the title “Master” would forever imply to Anakin, and just how much damage could so easily be done to his development if the mental scars of his slavery were disregarded, or handled flippantly. It was something that had taken him a while to consider; slavery was so far removed from daily life at the temple that he could quite well see just what a disaster teaching Anakin at the temple would have been. Too many Jedi were too sheltered, had grown too complacent, especially those in charge of the younglings. It was not a mark against them – he was such that they would have meant well – but rather a simple observation.

None would have known how to handle Anakin Skywalker. As it was, Qui-Gon himself was still learning how to do so. He was an uncanny child, but the knowledge in which Qui-Gon was firm, that Anakin was the Chosen One of the Force, kept his mind open and mostly clear.

Even his understanding of the Force was altered by his new relationship with his apprentice. To Anakin, the Force just _was_. He didn’t understand it in metaphysical terms, nor even in the philosophical sense. The only way that Qui-Gon had found to explain it to him which Anakin understood completely was in technicalities. How things _worked_ clicked with the boy, his mind so innately attuned to making those connections, like watching a machine come apart and then together again in his hands. He was so at one with the Force, that trying to explain the theoretics, the philosophies on which so many ancient Jedi scholars had spent decades of their life meditating, was like speaking a foreign language.

Much of Anakin’s early apprenticeship worked in such a way. Trial and error. What would Anakin understand? How could what he didn’t be altered into terms which would? Meditation was initially a lost cause, until Qui-Gon realized that Anakin didn’t need to meditate to deepen his connection with the Force. He’d lived so long immersed in that sixths sense that he was unable to name that it was _removing_ himself from it that turned out to be the greater challenge. Anakin didn’t perceive the Force in the same way as Qui-Gon, much less any other Jedi. It wasn’t an extension of who he was, rather, it _was_ him, and he it. Asking Anakin to reach more deeply was impossible. He was already so surrounded, imbued inhabited by the Force at all times.

Once he’d realized this, and understood that the real challenge was going to be doing the opposite, Anakin suddenly made much more sense to him, objectively. Anakin did not choose to draw on the Force. He didn’t have to work at him. It worked with him, second nature. A survival instinct. And if he didn’t have to draw the Force to him, that meant he didn’t decide what to draw on when he did. The Force simply acted through him, and he in turn, gave it direction in his free will.

Another reason that Temple training was showing itself to be an even greater folly. The Force was not light or dark independently of the other, it was all things at once. Qui-Gon had to choose the light (no longer consciously, as when padawans let their tempers run in the heat of puberty). Anakin simply could not choose; it was all or nothing, and as nothing was never an option, his very self saturated with the untapped potential of his power at every moment.

Anakin was the epitome of a Grey Jedi. The choice was already made for him, that much was certain to Qui-Gon. To attempt to make him choose was to tempt fate. And when Qui-Gon had finally been able to discern that much, the path before him had been clear, the direction that his instruction of the boy would follow.

And so, Qui-Gon nurtured Anakin’s deep running emotions, but reaffirmed the ever present nature of death. They did not live in poverty, without belongings, because Anakin had never known the ability to have things of his own, and so treated this new development selflessly – what he had he shared, because he remembered what it felt like to have none. It only worked, Qui-Gon knew, because he allowed it. To be free, and yet, unable to have his own possessions, unable to choose how and when to call Qui-Gon “Master” would be to foist a different kind of slavery on the boy whose only thought was still that he someday might return to free the mother he’d left behind.

And so, Anakin’s earnest selflessness, which so easily could have turned to selfishness, endured and grew. Qui-Gon cultivated it as carefully as he did his beloved plants. He saw to it that Anakin experienced both the positive and negative outcomes of his selfless actions, praising them regardless, with a smile when Anakin’s kindness was returned in like, or when his nature was used against him, to another’s benefit. Nature was his teacher, and the few young children at the market days. Qui-Gon wasn’t trying to preserve Anakin’s innocence – he knew that was long gone, long before he’d ever layed eyes on the boy on Tatooine – but rather wizen his heart without hardening it. Often, the cruelties of the world had little effect on the boy who was raised on a planet where the barest hint of compassion could be a weakness, but sometimes, such lessons hurt the heart too much, and Qui-Gon would offer his comforting embrace against the bitter truths that manifested in Anakin’s tears. Anakin, who only wished the galaxy to be a good as the nature of his own heart, whose dreams had depended upon it, when the only future he could have imagined would become a reality was the continuing shackles of his position. If he had ceased to dream, he would have broken entirely, and Shmi hadn’t raised a fragile child.

No, indeed. To soften each coarse reality, there was a moment of pure goodness. Sometimes those were the ones that hurt all the more in light of Anakin’s new reality that the galaxy over was not so different than Tatooine at its core – no matter where they went there would be both dreamers and schemers. No matter which constellation, there would be both hurt and happiness, kindness and cruelty. To differing degrees, certainly, but the understanding, when it finally came, altered Anakin much. Qui-Gon could see it in his eyes. But his unrestrained goodness of heart did not fracture under this new knowledge, only redoubled in strength.

Some time after that, Qui-Gon had a waking dream. A vision, he knew, somehow, of a future that never was, where a different child embodied the same qualities Anakin did now, because in that future that never was, Anakin’s resolve had crumbled under the brute force of his disillusionment with the galaxy. Even such a glimpse broke his heart and the vow he etched into his heart seemed recompense for a failing that had never come to pass.

Anakin’s gaze did not carry the look of the haunted, of the pessimist, nor even of the pragmatic. Merely the realist, who still believed in the potential for good in all beings.

Truly, Qui-Gon knew, Anakin could be the best of them all, or the one who fell the farthest. And there would be no in between. He put his whole self into everything he did, and such a volatile future was no exception.

Anakin would either save the galaxy from any evils which set their sights upon it, or condemn it to darkness himself.

 

 


	5. 25 BBY - Destiny of the Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Happy Revenge of the Fifth!

**Jedi Temple Ruins,** **Fields of Banir, Dantooine, 25 BBY**

 

The Temple ruins loomed above Anakin. The structure stared down at him, a scrutinizing Master gaze stony and unwavering.  Qui-Gon did not know that he’d left the hut that they had made their home.

All night, Anakin’s sleep had been fraught with shadows of… _something_. Something that had left Anakin haunted, left him feeling empty and drained, as if he’d been plagued by dreams that he couldn’t remember. He’d woken, the vibrant twin moons casting immeasurable light in through his window. The beams fell across his bedding, lighting on him like a spotlight, blinding him. He gazed out. The Temple ruins had been visible from his location, and light anointed its façade like rain on the desert.

A whisper trickled through the air. Suddenly, without warning, his bleary eyesight had cleared. His conscious mind pulled away. All thoughts he’d had were concentrated on one single thought.  Pulling on his day robes without a spare thought, he’d set out.

Forgotten, on the bench, lay his lightsaber.

_AnakinAnakinAnakinAnakinAnakinAnakinAnakin…_

The nearly six klick journey had taken Anakin the better part of an hour, but to him it had felt like merely a passing moment. He had walked, trancelike, the whole way. His awareness was focused wholly on the half-collapsed structure ahead of him. Subconsciously he moved through the grassy plain, single-minded. Around him, nightlife buzzed and stirred, but Anakin heard not a sound of it.

He did not stop even momentarily until he stood directly before the entrance to the monstrous edifice.

It was supremely ancient. None of the inhabitants of Dantooine dared to venture into the Temple, which they considered taboo grounds. Not sacred in any way that pertained to their religion, but rather, held it with suspicion and awe, protected by the wary attention of a cautious eye. Even the Dantari people were known to keep their distance.

But none of this crossed Anakin’s mind as he looked up at the forbidding structure.

_Anakin..._

He blinked once, his features impassive, blankly set as if in a fugue, the contours of his face deeply shadowed in the light. He blinked again and-

               -entered.

His footsteps were the first in almost four thousand years. Small puffs of dust billowed with each footfall. The soft foot coverings muffled the sound. The air was heavier, thick with age and power. It suffocated Anakin’s natural senses until only his connection with the Force remained. The walls and columns were draped and adorned with trailing foliage, a rich green even at night. It hung like the finest lace, leaving no surface untouched.  Anakin could only see a short distance into the temple, where light streamed through the spots where stone had fallen away. But the lack of light did not faze him. The compulsion he’d woken with, the compulsion had only grown stronger the closer he came to his destination. If anything, it had grown incrementally stronger.

He walked without hesitation into the deepening gloom, never once breaking his stride, even as the steps crumbled underfoot as he walked, even though interior columns lay toppled in his way, along with other structures that had fallen in his path. He wove effortlessly through the pitch black maze, utterly calm, his consciousness of his surroundings lost to the compulsion.

_closerclosercloser_

Somewhere beneath his sense of utter peace, a black foreboding grew, like an anxious gnawing in his heart. The flames of it licked at him, and a natural instinct to turn and run was startled awake.

_CLOSERCLOSERCLOSER_

The urge was firmly silenced.

Anakin had wandered far enough, guided only by the Force so that he was deep within the inner sanctum of the Temple. Its arched ceilings formed a hallway, visible only in the shadowy monochrome of half-light filtered through the fissure cracks in the fascia, where dust motes floated languidly in translucent pillars.

Beyond, the arch gave way to an intense, all-consuming darkness.

Anakin crossed the threshold.

He blinked. He stood upon a landing at the top of a great set of stairs. Once again, his mind was his own. He looked around in curious amazement as he descended. The fact that he could barely recall how he’d arrived concerned Anakin very little. It was all a blur. A strange, intoxicating blur.

A glowing manifested in Anakin’s peripherals as he surveyed the grotto-like room he had entered.  Just the barest flicker of persistent light. Turning around to face the source, he watched as the bright spot grew. It wasn’t an orb of its own self. Rather, it seemed to be the product of some unidentified light source, illuminating the room around him, bathing the grotto in a soft, hazy white glow.

He peered at it, trying to make out the details of the room as it grew. Twin iridescent pinpricks of dead starlight winked into existence just beyond the edge of his field of vision. They grew, elongating into sharp, thin ovate shapes.

Anakin’s eyes grew wide and he backed up instinctively, awe and terror warring inside him. He tripped on the stair behind him, and fell, sprawling out helpless on the ground.

The Obsidian Dragon rose, smoke-like, twisting and coiling unrestrainedly in the cavernous room until it was stretched to its full height above him. Behind it, light, yellow like the sun, burst, silhouetting the Dragon’s enormous form. Its great maw gaped opened, revealing the bladed edges of its many teeth, it’s breath curling in the air, fusion cold, like a mist of icy rain.

The fire in Anakin’s heart flickered pitifully against the onslaught as the shadow of the Dragon’s overwhelming presence threatened to consume him utterly. He put one arm out as if to shield himself as the Dragon bore down on him.

The whisper no longer came to him from a great distance, or from the air around him. This time, it came from deep inside him. Insidious and ancient, cold poison running through his veins, freezing him until nothing more was left but a cold lump of dead rock.

A star, burnt out.

_all things die…_

For a hairsbreadth of a moment, as the Dragon closed on him, it became…something else…and in his overwhelming terror, Anakin Skywalker knew no more.

* * *

When Anakin came to, the Dragon…the…whatever it had been… was gone. The light, too, had utterly left from the room. His eyes compensated quite quickly, with the help of the Force. He picked himself up off the floor after a moment, and shakily made his way back the way he’d come.

Gone was the feeling of suffocating power that had overwhelmed him upon entering the place. Gone was the almost electric, intoxicating feeling that had so drawn him in. The ruins were just that: ruins. All the same, in the still, immovable quiet, Anakin felt uneasy.

The knot in his stomach still hadn’t departed him even after he’d made it out of the temple to find it still night. Even after he was halfway back, and the hut was once more in sight. Even after he’d crawled back into bed, Qui-Gon somehow remaining none the wiser.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully enough, but he woke feeling achy and dissatisfied. Qui-Gon did not say anything to him all throughout that day, but then, in his experience with his Master, Qui-Gon preferred to let Anakin speak to him himself, when he felt ready. It was just Qui-Gon’s way. But Anakin, still shaken, and utterly perturbed, said nothing. With a little luck and a good night’s rest, the whole thing might be behind him.

Inwardly, Anakin knew it could never be a simple as that.

And indeed, that night he woke abruptly, shivering and sweating intensely, hot as if with fever. Breaths coming in gasping shudders, Anakin threw off the thin blanket, and pulled on his day clothes. The lightsaber lay forgotten once more as he started out, still shaking, half in anguish from an unknown source, half from a twisted sense of anticipation. _Would the Dragon reveal itself once more? Would it devour him?_

_Anakin…_

This time, his pilgrimage to the Temple was different. He still hardly knew how he’d arrived there, but the sense of utter calm never overcame him. Muscle memory alone took him safely through the Temple halls and into the inner sanctum. Only then, was his frenzied mind and body calmed. The stifling power of the place overwhelmed him once more, muting his senses.

As the blue-white glow blossomed in the room, he stood, transfixed. Again, the piercing dead-starlight eyes opened from nothingness, the Obsidian Dragon taking on its form by absorbing the empty darkness of the room like a shadowy cloak.

Yes, that was how it happened. The light didn’t come into being, it had always been there. Instead, the Obsidian Dragon was formed of the shadows that blocked out the light and the light appeared as the shadows were absorbed back into it.

Anakin stood his ground this time, floored by the revelation, as the Dragon bore down on him once more, jaws wide, teeth gleaming, great wings beating forcefully. Just as he felt he was about to be devoured, the Dragon became…something else.

In its place stood a figure shrouded in the same shadowy substance that made up the Dragon. He was dark, dark like the blackness of space, void of all colour, absorbing all light before it. From behind he was lit by flaming chutes of molten lava. The figure turned, and only his eyes – the Dragon’s eyes – were visible from underneath  its hood. They burned an angry red and yellow, flaring brightly with hatred.

Anakin could hear the crackling hiss of the lava, could feel  the heat rising around him, and could see the steam in the air, curling around the figure, the way the Dragon’s breath had in the air.

“Who are you?” Anakin demanded, the echo of his voice lost to the void surrounding him.

The figure turned his blazing eyes on the padawan.

Anakin felt scorched to the core, yet even in the heat, he shivered. The figure’s gaze pierced into his soul, and his soul answered back, shuddering helplessly. His prior bravado lessened, but he was determined to receive the whole of the vision this time. He would accept it, accept what the Force was trying to tell him.

It _was_ the Force calling to him.

It _had_ to be.

“Who are you?” The question didn’t come out nearly as resolute as before, but this time, the figure smiled, bearing a dragon’s grin. It was a sickening sight and the knot in Anakin’s stomach coiled tighter. A spasm went through his body as the cloaked figure suddenly advanced on him. Anakin lost his footing for a moment, and, like the night before, crashed backwards onto the stone steps. He looked up at the figure which now stood over him like a monument. A familiar cylindrical shape slid from the billows of his cloak sleeve and into his hand. Anakin’s breath hitched.

_all things die, Anakin Skywalker…_

The blade ignited red.

Raising it, the figure paused, imperceptibly, and then arced downward with impossible speed.

_even stars burn out…_

Mirrored in Anakin’s fearful eyes, the blade seared towards him, and he knew no more.

* * *

The next morning, Anakin knew Qui-Gon was sincerely worried. He’d woken to his Master’s concerned eyes, hovering over him.

“You’re not well,” The words came clipped and stern, not out of anger, but of compassion. Anakin said nothing in return; he was feverish and weary, and trembled endlessly, dazed, the fugue of his vision state lingering. He had no recollection of returning to the hut after the previous night’s excursion. On Qui-Gon’s forehead there appeared a wrinkled line, dipping just above the bridge of his nose. “Here, Ani,” he stated. “Drink a little,”

Anakin felt a flicker in the Force, but whether the anguish there was his or Qui-Gon’s or both, he could not tell.

He spent the whole day in and out of consciousness. Qui-Gon’s presence was constant. Sometimes, when he was lucid, Anakin could hear his Master speaking softly, dabbing a cool, damp cloth to his head and neck.

Night came.

All day Anakin had slept fitfully, but the dreams—dreams of terror and shadow and unspeakable grief filled pain—held off until the moons rose in the sky. Their beams crossed his face, and he opened his bloodshot eyes.

_Anakin…_

Qui-Gon was asleep in the chair when his Padawan hauled himself out of bed. The effort was considerable, but even so he managed to pull on his day clothes, and once more began the trek out to the ancient Temple. If his previous trips had been misted by fugue, the trip he made that night was an unquenchable fog, dense and heavy and thick enough to carve with a vibroblade.

He remembered none of it.

In one instant, he had been in the hut, and the next, he stood once more on the threshold, the only signal of time’s passage his increasing weariness.

Haggard, he took one lurching, but firmly placed step forward.

 _closs-sserrr…_ the Dragon hissed.

Each movement down the stair was halting, tentative. More than once he slipped, barely catching himself in time. By the time he reached the bottom of the passage, the Dragon had already uncoiled itself fully, poising to swoop downwards towards him.

_all things die, Anakin Skywalker_

The gaping maw grew closer.

_even stars burn out…_

The Dragon transmuted at the very last moment and the hooded figure, evil, perverse smile splayed across his face and piercing eyes that cut at Anakin like barbs, stood in its place.

Anakin pulled forcibly on the last remaining vestiges of his strength.

“Who are you?” He cried. “What do you want from me?”

This time, no red blade ignited to move swiftly towards him. This time, the hands, one gloved in black, the other, surprisingly human, lifted to grasp the edges of the shadow-black hood that hid his face.

An eerie sound filled the space, drowning out the crackling hiss of the lava. A sound like breathing. It was vile, mechanical sounding, like it was regulated evenly. Impossibly.

The fingers grasped, and the hood lowered.

Too tormented by what he saw to react, Anakin only stared.

Half the face was pale, mottled blue and red around the eye, a piercing, sickly yellow-red. A grotesque ridge ran raised across the hairless skull. The other half of the face consisted of mangled flesh, blackened and charred, flaking ash and skin and oozing thick, dark blood.

Destroyed lips smiled, pearled fangs gnashed, and hate-filled eyes flared.

The features, though distinctly older, and marred as they were, were unmistakable.

They were his own.

“I am Darth Vader,” the creature said, in a voice that matched the mechanical breaths it took, harsh, not unrecognizable, but ruined all the same. “And you, you are nothing at all,”

Now, the blade slipped into his hand. Ignited. Bled red light. Descended.

Anakin’s hand shot out, and the Force channeled effortlessly through him. The blade crashed into the wave Anakin had made in the Force, and sparks flew. Gingerly, but determined, Anakin held the shield and raised himself from prone to sitting upright, and from sitting, to standing.  They circled each other, Vader’s yellow-red eyes venomous, Anakin’s blue gaze clear. Another set of steps flared into Anakin’s awareness and he backed his way up them, still holding the apparition at bay. Every ounce of reserve strength flooded through him, Qui-Gon’s voice echoing in his head, _a Jedi draws his strength from the Force._

His arm drew back, and then he _pushed._

“I am Anakin Skywalker!” He bellowed as loudly as he could. “And I am not nothing!” The apparition before him flagged imperceptibly and snarled at him. Another voice drifted past Anakin’s awareness, one he could not recognize. _All that is within, is only that which you take with you_.

He could feel it now, in the Force, could recognize the creature before him, recognize the cold, freezing dread that lived in the furnace of his heart, the Obsidian Dragon with eyes of dead starlight, walled away by flame, and held at bay by sheer force of will. The Obsidian Dragon made of _fear_ and _failure_ and _weakness_ and _death._

“I will not fall!” He ground out the vow from behind clenched teeth, pressing forward with the Force as hard as he was able. Darth Vader trembled in anger at the onslaught. “I am Anakin Skywalker, and I will _never_ fall!”

Suddenly, intensely, power rushed off Anakin in waves, and Darth Vader bent under the assault, crumpling with wheezing breaths. The painful breaths of a pitiful creature.

Utterly spent from the release of energy, Anakin sagged to his knees, arms falling weakly to his sides.

“I am Anakin Skywalker,” he rasped, “and I am not afraid.”

And for the first time in his life, the words spoken were true.

The fallen form of Darth Vader and the apocalyptic vision blew away like sand before a mirage, banished. Only hazy light remained, streaming down from an opening at the very roof of the room that hadn’t been visible before, revealing the inner sanctum to Anakin for the first time. He was at the top of a circular stair pillar. Swaying on his knees from utter exhaustion, the Padawan took no notice.

“I’m not afraid.” He uttered once more, the sound barely more than a whisper.

His eyes-lids flickered, his breath fell short.

Weary eyes did not register the figure of Qui-Gon Jinn rushing onto the upper landing from the hall.

Unable to last one moment more, Anakin collapsed.

_Earlier-_

Qui-Gon’s head jerked up and his eyes flew open. There was a searing pain coming from-

The bed was empty. His lightsaber flew to his hand instantaneously, and he took off at a sprint, towards the ruins, the sun only just beginning to rise at his back. Towards his padawan. Distress radiated in the force, thick light sluggish blood. The Jedi Master’s pace increased and he drew on the Force for stamina, accelerating.

 _Anakin,_ he reached out with the Force. Though he could sense his padawan, there was no answering call. _Anaki-_ Qui-Gon sagged back, grasping at his chest as a wave of darkness came over him and Anakin’s presence winked out of existence. His anguished cry fell empty on the field, but he only redoubled his pace, long legs pressing their capabilities, muscles burning. He felt his own terror mounting, compounded by the darkness that clouded the Force.

His robes billowed behind him as Qui-Gon crossed the threshold of the old Temple, and stepped into darkness.

The Force was his guide; Qui-Gon did not heed his steps, dashing to and froe, fleetfooted, winging along like the wind. He could feel the pulsating stronger now, as though the Temple itself were alive around him. He was the blood it its veins, pounding his way closer and closer to the heart.

To Anakin.

He had not faltered, had not paused for breath. The looming, pitch-black entrance to a rotunda was before him, and, despite the seeping, ugly feeling that emanated from the room, Qui-Gon still did not hesitate. He dashed through the archway, thoughts focused solely on Anakin.

It was surprising light inside, despite initial observation. Down the long flight of steps, there was a circular arena, empty, wholly devoid of life. A tall stair pillar, circular, stood in the center. The Jedi Master’s eyes were riveted. Right at the top, Anakin knelt, like some sacrificial creature. The boy swayed, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he dropped, solid as a bag of stone.

“ANAKIN!” Qui-Gon called out reflexively. “ANAKIN!” and proceeded to rush to his padawan’s side.

 

* * *

 

When he came to, Anakin’s field of vision blinded – brilliant light streamed down from the open hole in the ceiling. He blinked rapidly, the world speeding into focus.

He felt Qui-Gon’s presence before he saw him.

“Anakin? Anakin!” Qui-Gon’s normally placid tones were bordering on frantic. There was something different. Something…new. But Anakin couldn’t put his finger on it. It was elusive, a spike in the feeling of the world, and he could feel it in the air, a static sensation that smelt like ozone and tasted of the metallic Diatium he’d used when constructing his lightsaber.

“Master…” His nose wrinkled in confusion. Qui-Gon’s presence, generally steady and calming, was erratic, filled with urgency and pain and…fear. He pushed himself to sitting, eyes already starting to adjust. He no longer felt woozy, or weak. All the fatigue he’d accumulated over the past several days had dissipated entirely. In fact he felt almost weightless… _light_.  

“Thank the Force, Anakin! I thought you’d-I thought that-If anything were to happen to you- What happened Ani?”

Anakin’s gaze locked with Qui-Gon’s. Qui-Gon’s eyes were sharp with worry. Sweat glistened on his Master’s brow, and the older man was breathing heavily.

“The vision came to culmination, Master,” He answered, warily.

“Your presence in the Force…it was…obliterated. Force, Ani, I thought-“

"I'm fine. Really Master. I'm...I'm fine," he said, broaching on the cusp of a realization. "I'm fine," 

"Let's get you home Ani, you need rest, and then we'll talk. Rest and meditation, and then we'll discuss what it means. You had me so worried, my boy," Qui-Gon put out a hand over the boy's head, smoothing at the short hair fondly. 

"I'm sorry, Master,"

"There's no need to apologize, Anakin. There was nothing you could have done. It was the will of the Force,"

He helped Anakin to stand. The boy was shaky on his feet, but the leaned into one another closely, each supporting the other and walked out of the chamber and into the moted, sparkling greyness once more. 

 


	6. 22 BBY - Ouroboros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. - Rajneesh
> 
>  
> 
> No language can express the power, and beauty, and heroism, and majesty of a mother’s love. It shrinks not where man cowers, and grows stronger where man faints, and over wastes of worldly fortunes sends the radiance of its quenchless fidelity like a star. - Edwin Hubbell Chapin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I continue to flesh out this 'verse I will go back and add in stories which occur prior to this, some of which are already partially written, and one of which is alluded to here.

**Lars Homestead, Mos Eisley, Tatooine, 22BBY**

 

Shmi ran her arm over her sweating forehead. The suns had grown unbearable quickly that morning. Tomorrow, she knew, she would have to go out earlier than usual. The season was changing. Gathering the vaporator mushrooms she’d picked, Shmi nestled them more securely in the folds of her skirt and set off back to the homestead. She would have to remind Cliegg that Owen would have to pick up another power converter when he went to Tosche Station with Beru later.

 

An she made her way across the flat expanse of desert towards her home, something in the distance glinted against the light of the suns. She fought her impulse to shield her eyes, lest she drop the fungi she carried. Suddenly, something in her was pulsing. Something old. Something instinctive, primal. She felt it in her bones, like she felt it when a sandstorm was coming.

 

She hoisted her skirts; mushrooms, entirely forgotten, tumbled away haphazardly. Shmi ran.

 

Her heart was singing

 

* * *

 “Dad?” Owen called from the top step, looking out on the horizon. “I think a ship’s landed on the edge of our property,”

 

“A ship? You mean a speeder?” Cliegg started up the stairs himself to take a look.

 

“No, a starship,” Owen pointed as his father came up behind him. “See?”

 

There, landing with a swirl of sand, was a starship. It wasn’t like anything either man had ever seen before, even in the heart of Mos Eisley, where Spacers old and young landed new each day. Sleek, the craft touched down with utter precision.

 

Cliegg’s head suddenly swiveled.

 

“What is it, Dad?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Cliegg had caught sight of a shape. A very familiar, woman-like shape, sprinting across the terrain, hair loose, whipping in the wind, a trail of mushrooms on the ground behind her. Shmi neared the craft, as two darkly cloaked figures exited, and he watched as she put out her arms, skirts flying and was gathered up into the embrace of the shorter of the two figures.

 

“Dad?” Owen looked at his father with curiosity.

 

“Go inside Owen. You and Beru get some refreshments ready. We’ve got visitors,”

 

* * *

With a fierce emotion that Shmi could not name, she had sprinted into the arms of her son. It resonated within her even more strongly now, that her flesh was returned to her, her heart made whole, her soul rejuvenated. She hadn’t even the thought to call his name so strong had been the compulsion to run to him, to sweep him up and away and to make him part of her once more.

 

She clung to him, and he clung back. She felt his hot tears on her forehead before they evaporated away, and she gave thanks in her heart to whatever it was that had given him to her initially, that it had also brought him back.

 

They did not speak. They did not need to.

 

Distantly, Shmi was aware of Qui-Gon’s presence behind them, and briefly thought to be cordial and greet him, but she stopped the train of thought in its tracks.

 

_I am allowed this. Surely, I am allowed this. My miracle. My son. If I am never allowed anything else, let me at least have this._

 

She had been weeping since she had first spotted him, but was heedless of all else.

 

“My Anakin,” She muttered into his shoulder. _He is so tall!_ “My son, oh my son, my Ani, you have returned to me, my Anakin, my son! Now I am complete,”

 

Then, he spoke through his tears, mournfully, elatedly, emotions warring in his unsteady voice. “I’m here, Mom,”

 

She laughed in abandon, in utter disbelief, touching his face, looking him over. “You’re so tall! And so handsome!”

 

Anakin ducked his head shyly in response.

 

The wind whipped around them where they stood, and moments passed. Qui-Gon had moved on towards the homestead, but it was beyond the notice of Mother or Son.  A respectful distance from both, he waited. The Jedi Master had noted the presence of another, a man, standing just inside the doorway, observing, but he did not heed him.

 

Several minutes later, Mother and Son loosed the embrace, hands still grasping to forearms, eyes locked, speechless. Then, after another minute had passed, and Shmi had lifted a hand to brush at her son’s temple once more, the two turned and set off towards the homestead.  Qui-Gon waited till they passed him before joining a short distance behind.

 

Cliegg watched, coming out from the overhang enough to be entirely visible.

 

The trio stopped before him.

 

“Cliegg, this is my son, Anakin Skywalker,” She turned to her son. “Anakin, this is my husband. Cliegg Lars,”

 

“Welcome, son,” Cliegg said gruffly, though not unkindly, and put out his hand. Anakin nodded deferentially, and grasped it.

 

“Pleased to meet you,”

 

“Likewise,”

 

Then, Shmi turned to the Jedi standing behind them. “Cliegg, this is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn,”

 

“Master Jinn,”

 

“Qui-Gon,” the Jedi responded, bowing at the waist as was his custom. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. We were gratified to hear that Shmi was no longer in Mos Espa,” The meaning behind his words was evident. “We apologize for arriving unannounced. We did not know another way of contacting you,”

 

“No indeed. Please, come in,” He gestured, and Shmi, her arm around Anakin, guided him in, the other men following.

 

“What brings you and the boy here then?” Cliegg asked pleasantly. “Shmi’s always hoped to see him again,”

 

“Perhaps we may stick to pleasantries for the present,” Qui-Gon hedged. “My Padawan, too, has long been eager to see his mother safe. I once hoped to be able to reunite them sooner. It is to my shame that I could not,”

 

Cliegg seemed to chew the Jedi’s words over, but said nothing as they entered the lower courtyard.

 

“Come Ani, you must tell me everything that has been happening. I’ve been so long without any news of you, my heart,”

 

“There’s so much to tell, Mom,” He replied. Once more, they were holding one another’s arms, as if without the connection, they would simply float away. Anakin looked down briefly, but did not break the contact. “I’m not a Jedi, but Master Qui-Gon has been training me,”

 

“Not a Jedi?” Shmi asked, confusion falling over her features.

 

“It’s hard to explain. But I am learning, Mom. I’m learning the ways of the Jedi, of the Force. The Council on Coruscant refused my training, but Master Qui-Gon wouldn’t hear of it. He left the order. We have been living in seclusion on Dantooine since I left,”

 

“I heard about the Battle on Naboo - they sent me word. You weren’t-”

 

“I’m fine, Mom,” he reassured her tenderly. “I’m fine. I promise,”

 

From the other room, Owen cleared his throat. Beru stood beside him. “I’ve got some refreshments on the table,”

 

* * *

They sat all together, almost awkward. Qui-Gon was silently, but courteous, more observing than participating. Owen and Beru had been tentatively introduced to their visitors, and Cliegg, Qui-Gon could tell, was still casually appraising his visitors. Anakin and Shmi could hardly stop looking at one another. They exchanged little glances back and forth across the generic conversation, disbelief at one another presence still running in their thoughts.

 

Eventually, something must have clicked in Shmi, because she immediately turned to Qui-Gon, seriousness brimming her gaze.

 

“Anakin told me he is not a Jedi,”

 

“He is not, no,”

 

“You said he would be trained,”

 

“And he is being trained. The council refused him because he was too old. I made several petitions on his behalf but they would not have him. I promised you that I would care for him, and so I have. I broke with the Jedi, if only in name, and have trained him independently of them. He is a Jedi, of a sort, whether or not the Council agreed. It is the will of the Force,”

 

She turned again to Anakin, but spoke only to Qui-Gon.

 

“Thank you, for helping my son,”

 

* * *

 

Shmi and Beru adjourned outdoors to pick up the mushrooms that Shmi had lost, while Owen went to Tosche Station alone for supplies. It hadn’t taken Anakin long to search out C-3PO, the droid he’d built so long ago, leaving Qui-Gon and Cliegg on their own. It was a pleasant silence between them, but still charged with anticipation. Qui-Gon waited for the other man to speak.

 

“You found us through that old Toydarian, I suppose,”

 

“Indeed. Mos Espa was our first stop. He could hardly believe it was Ani when he saw him,” The two men shared a good natured chuckle.

 

“It was maybe the third or fourth time I met her that Shmi told me of Anakin. She hasn’t spoken of him often, but I can always see it in her eyes. My late wife, Owen’s mother, she used to have that look. It’s not something I could understand, a connection that deep that it changes all of who you are,”

 

There was a pause.

 

“I never thought he’d come back. I’m not sure Shmi did either,” Cliegg caught Qui-Gon in an appraising stare.

 

“Had he been a Jedi, it is unlikely that he would have,” The truth broke bittersweet on Qui-Gon’s tongue. “Our Order can be secretive, and unyielding in their ways. Knowing Anakin as I do now, I see the wisdom they had in refusing him, even if not for similar reasons. I am not sure things would have turned out so well otherwise,” Allowing his sincerity to show through, Qui-Gon met Cliegg’s stare. “He is more grateful to you than he appears. He’s ill socialized,” A note of concern crept into his voice. “I’ve kept him away too much, and too long. Do not mistake me; we’ve not been totally isolated, but he can be withdrawing. Introverted with those he does not know,”

 

“He’s a different lad from Owen, that’s certain. Owen’s known no life but this,”

 

Qui-Gon nodded. It led to another pause.

 

“Why’ve you come,” Cliegg’s words were less a question and more a statement. They hung in the hot, dry air, suspended by the stale wisps of wind, waiting.

 

* * *

“Oh hello there, I am See Threep-”

 

“It’s me Threepio!” Anakin smiled widely. “I guess I look pretty different, huh? But mom recognized me,”

 

“Oh goodness! The Maker! Why Master Ani, it is you!”

 

While he readied an oil bath for the protocol droid, who was in obvious need of some tender, loving care, Anakin listened to Threepio prattle mindlessly, enjoying the familiar sound.

 

Tatooine had once been his home. Not a pleasant one, nor a welcoming one by any means, but it had been home all the same. Now the forbidding planet was as alien to him as Felucia had been. That first off-world mission seemed so long ago, but Tatooine was longer ago, in both memory and time. While its customs remains ingrained in him, he still detested the sand, felt its rough granules grating on his skin, ensnared between his hair. His mother, his beautiful mother, still trapped on a planet that brought little else but death. He’d seen enough of it in the six years he’d spent on the planet. He remembered almost nothing from before they’d been sold to Gardulla, but it was enough.

 

 _Where do you hail from young man?_ He remembered a trader asking, that first trip to market on Dantooine, so long ago.

 

Tatooine.

 

It ought to have been synonymous with death.

 

His mother…

 

The images from his nightmares raced across his vision, her bloodied face, her pleading eyes, and rasping voice…

 

Anakin shook himself out of the memory of the premonition.

 

His mother was fine, safe, happy, cared for, loved.

 

Inside him, the withering form of the cold, dead dragon whispered.  _Not for long._

 

“There you go, Threepio,”

 

“Oh thank you, Master Ani. You and Mistress Shmi do take such good care of me, really, it’s been so long since I had a decent bath and-”

 

Threepio, blissful in his oil bath didn’t notice Anakin slip away.

 

* * *

“Pass me the bowl please, Beru,”

 

Beru passed to bowl happily humming a folk tune as they worked in the kitchen, preparing the meal. Shmi worked to knead a bread-like substance, joining in for harmony occasionally. Leaning up against the door, Anakin watched.

 

“Can I help?” He asked as the song ended, surprising both women.

 

“Of course, Ani!” Shmi wiped her brow. “Take over for me here, I’ve got to check on the other dish,”

Anakin took up his mother’s place beside Beru shyly.

 

“You like to cook, do you?” She asked, smiling back.

 

“I used to cook a bit with Mom when we still lived in Mos Espa, and I cook daily with Master Qui-Gon, though I think my taste buds are a bit more tolerant than his,”

 

“Doesn’t like things spicy?”

 

“Definitely not!” She wrung her first real laugh out of him. “How long have you been with Owen?” he asked, curious.

 

“About a year now,” She smiled dreamily. “He’s a good person. Your mother and Cliegg, they’ve really made me family. Shmi is so good to me. My mother has been dead some years…”

 

“I’m sorry to hear it,” He kneaded the dough a bit more roughly, the broken shards of images flashing in his mind.

 

“Shmi has been like a second mother. She missed you greatly,” Beru put a hand to his shoulder in comfort and he turned from his work.

 

“I’m glad that she has had you and the Lars’s. Leaving her...I’ve done lots of hard things in my life. Different sorts of hard of course. I know life here is…”

 

“Difficult,” She stressed the word, and they shared a dark chuckle.

 

“To say the least. In most ways, I’ve lived an easier life. But nothing, none of my trials, or my missions, were ever as hard as that day. She told me, to be brave, and not to look back. And I didn’t. If I had…”

 

“You never would have left,”

 

He shook his head in response. They milled around each other quietly for a bit, fixing the meal.

 

“So, what about you, Beru?”

  

One conversation, two loaves baking and one pot of stew later, Beru was ushered from the kitchen by Anakin who insisted he could handle the rest, and that she ought to take a break. She had enjoyed the conversation with Owen’s step brother. His mother’s happiness and well-being seemed foremost on his mind. Shmi was just coming back, arms full of roots for the last dish.

 

“Is Anakin still in the kitchen?”

 

“Yes,” She smiled. “Too many cooks in there, I think,”

 

Shmi smiled. “It’s good to have all my children here,” Beru put a hand to her surrogate mother’s arm.

 

“You’ve taught me so much. I’m honoured you consider me your child,”

 

“I’ve never had a daughter,” Shmi answered thoughtfully. “But having you with me it has been almost like it. I’m the one that is honoured,”      

 

They smiled at each other, and then giggled together, youth restored to Shmi’s face through the radiance of her happiness.

 

“Oh, and before I forget, I reminded Owen about that other power converter,”

 

“Thank goodness,” Shmi said. “Cliegg would have had his head otherwise, visitors or not!”

 

They went their own ways, Shmi heading into the kitchen and Beru up the steps to take her much deserved break.

 

* * *

It was long dark before Anakin went inside. He had stood, watching the suns go down until the last vestiges of their glow had waned to twilight. The blue-purple sky mellowed around him and the triple moons light bathed him in their glow, one by one by one.

 

He had to duck his head when he went in.

 

At the bottom of the steps, only his Mother was awake, waiting. The son sat down next to his mother.

 

“Is something wrong, Ani?”

 

He didn’t respond, instead fiddling with the hem of his robe.

 

“I’m your mother, Anakin. I may not have seen you in ten years, but I haven’t forgotten that,”

 

At first it was silent, but then, soft, like the moons light around them, Shmi could hear the soft sounds of his crying.

 

“Oh my Anakin, my son,” She pulled him to her and he went readily, laying his head on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, never forget what I told you all those years ago. You’re my brave boy, Ani. What is it? What’s troubling you?”

 

He pulled away suddenly and stood, all in one fluid movement, as if burned by her presence. Where had a her happy boy-child gone?

 

“I have visions, Mother,” Anakin began, after a moment. “Dreams. Premonitions. Things that are going to happen,”

 

Shmi stood too, placing a hand on his shoulder, but he would not face her. “Such things don’t always pass, Ani, and if they do, perhaps they were meant to be,”

_Many premonitions inevitably come to pass, Anakin, and many don’t. We can only wait. Keep your focus in the here and now, young Padawan, where it belongs_.  Qui-Gon’s words mocked him with his mother’s voice.

 

Heartbroken, he wrenched out a sentence. “I won’t let you die, Mom,” He couldn’t bear to face her. For a minute, but only just a minute, Shmi did not speak.

 

She hardened her voice, but it shook all the same. “All things die, Ani. That is the cycle life takes. You know that. Things die and are born and life moves on. If it is my time…”

 

Turning to grasp her by the shoulder’s, eyes wild, Anakin spoke, voice rising. “But it doesn’t have to be! We came here and now you won’t! I won’t let you! All you have to do is leave Tatooine! All of you can come! Cliegg and Owen and Beru! You can have a better life, far from here!” _Far from death_.  The vow echoed in the open courtyard and Shmi felt her heart lurch, only contained by the cage of her chest. She ached for her son, for his shining, tear-filled eyes, for his unfulfillable vow.

 

“My place has always been here, Anakin,” Shmi’s tone held no room for argument, and Anakin’s tears only fell faster. “I have no wish to die, but if it is to be…” She brush the wetness from his cheeks, nudged his chin up that he might lock gazes with her. “If it is to be, then I am content to die having seen you again,”

 

Nearly collapsing at her words, Shmi was forced again to sit, while her son wept at her feet.

 

“But I need you, mom,” The choked sound was barely discernable between the sounds of his sobs. His mother ran her hand through his short-cut hair.

 

“Oh my Ani, you don’t need me,” His head was in her lap, tears soaking her skirts. “You don’t need me. You want me to be here, yes, but you don’t need me. If I were to die, life would still go on. You would still go on. There’s so much for you in the world, Ani. You have a life that I could never have imagined for you. I used to pray that you’d have something more than this, my son, but this farm here, this life – I am content. I am at peace, Ani,”

 

“Please don’t stay here,”

 

“Shhh, Ani, shhh,”

 

“Please, mom. Please don’t stay here. Please. Please don’t, mom, please,”

 

The litany of his words dissolved away along with his sobs, until the only sound was the brush of fabric as his shoulder’s heaved with emotion, and the soft noise of the nothings she spoke under her breath for comfort.


End file.
